


The Teddy Bear

by Trogdor19



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trogdor19/pseuds/Trogdor19
Summary: The real story behind JJ shooting that teddy bear, and what he did with the wad of cash from the hotel. Glimmers of Jiara around the edges.
Relationships: JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111





	The Teddy Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I actually don’t remember if they spent the first wad of cash JJ stole from the hotel room. Claiming artistic license. I don’t own this universe or characters, no copyright infringement intended, just playing for entertainment only.

JJ aimed the pistol at the black button nose of the teddy bear, the plastic rubbed shiny from his own thumb. He squeezed the trigger and stuffing blew out the back of the teddy bear’s head.

_Game over._

He smiled, fiercely, loving the bruising kick of the large-caliber handgun and the way it felt to grip that much power in his hand. A whole beach full of Kooks and he could still make them all stop whenever he wanted, without even breaking a sweat. With this thing, he was king of the whole fucking island.

He took aim at one of the teddy bear’s ears and fired, kicking up dirt to the side of the stump he’d propped his target on.

“Fuck.” He popped out the magazine and started to reload, trying to do it faster this time.

When he’d gone rummaging for targets around his house, there were plenty of beer cans. But, humiliatingly, he’d gone through half a box of shells without hitting a single one, and he’d gone back to the house for a bigger target to start on, to figure out if he was pulling right or left or where the hell all those bullets were going.

What he wanted was one of those man-shaped outlines, so he could picture Topper’s head on it. Now that was the kind of motivation he needed. But the only thing even vaguely human-shaped he had was the bear, and he didn’t even like to look at it. The stuffing was thin around the middle, where he’d squeezed it so hard after his mother left. Pretending it was her. That she’d ever hugged him as long as the bear would. Or that she’d ever let him sleep beside her when the night was extra dark and scary. After a while, he put it on the dresser, and when he’d catch a glimpse of it, he’d remember that she got it for him. She wouldn’t have spent the money on a stupid bear instead of groceries or beer or something good, if she didn’t care enough about him to come back.

He wasn’t sure how many years had gone by before he realized that was bullshit. Just that when he had, the bear had landed in the closet because he couldn’t stand to look at it and remember that his mother was gone. And he couldn’t stand to throw it away, because it was the last evidence he had that she’d ever existed. That she’d ever thought about him long enough to buy him something, even once.

JJ slammed the clip into the gun hard enough to bruise his palm and blasted a shot straight through the center of the bear.

“Yess…” he hissed, fist pumping. But riding right on the wake of the satisfaction, there was a withering in his gut, that curling-inward feeling that always made him feel unclean. It was the same feeling he’d had the first time he’d hit somebody and heard the crack of the cartilage under his fist. He’d thrown up that time, remembering how bad it hurt when it was _his_ nose being pounded under a fist. He even managed to apologize, in between waves of retching.

He couldn’t even remember what him and John B had been fighting about, that long-ago day. Just that John B’s nose had bled for fucking ever, though he said it didn’t even really hurt, that JJ didn’t hit half as hard as he thought he did, probably on account of him having scrawny girl arms.

Now, he shoved away that curdling feeling and fired two more shots into the teddy’s middle. He tried not to think about how his arms used to be so short that they barely fit around the teddy’s belly, but he’d _stretch_ for it and link his hands together so he could hug it that much tighter.

To wipe away the memory, he pulled out his phone and snapped photographic evidence of his bullseyes before remembering the cell towers were still down from the storm and he couldn’t text it to Kiara. Ah well, he could still throw it in her face the next time he saw her.

She was the reason he was out here playing shooting range in real life instead of on Pope’s old PlayStation. She’d gone digging through his backpack for gum one day and freaked the hell out when she found the pistol.

 _“I can’t believe you’re just carrying this around town when the cops are already looking for whoever had that gun at the party. Are you_ trying _to go to prison?” She glared at him. “Do you even know how to aim a gun?”_

_“You’ve seen me in a fight, Kie, so you tell me. You think I know how to handle myself?” He spat on the ground to cover his bluff. “You don’t grow up on the ass-end of the Cut without learning to handle a gun.”_

_Which was true, as long as the only gun handling you wanted to do was wrestling a bb gun away from your cousin after he’d already shot you in the butt eight times._

_“JJ…” Her eyes had gone soft and worried then. “I_ have _seen you in a fight. That’s why I’m saying, why the gun? It’s too much, just asking for trouble.”_

_“Don’t get mad at me—I’m just playing it the game the way the Kooks dealt it.” He tucked the gun in the back of his pants. “Maybe you never noticed, but the people who always come out on top? They aren’t the ones who play fair.”_

_He spat again, saliva filling his mouth that he didn’t want to think too much about. It wasn’t fear, it was anger, at the memory of John B’s face going down in the water and not coming up again._

_“I’ve put every one of those Kooks in their pink polo shirts on the ground, at some time or another. Hell, Rafe has a fake tooth because of me. They all know me over there, which is why they never come at me these days unless they’ve got one or two guys to hold me down so the other one doesn’t get scared and pee his panties coming close enough to punch me. That’s why I need—”_

_“That’s the most misogynist thing I’ve ever heard,” she interrupted. “What, like anybody who wears panties can’t be brave?”_

_She socked him in the stomach so hard it took him a minute or two to catch his breath, gasping and grinning all at once._

_“Nice hit, Kie,” he finally managed. “Point made.”_

_She was shaking out her fingers, her lips pursed tight against a wince. He caught her hand and wiggled each of her fingers to make sure she hadn’t busted a knuckle. “Next time, fold your thumb on the outside, like this.” He arranged her fist. “Won’t hurt so bad when you take out your first Kook.”_

_“Whatever.” She snatched her hand back. “Just don’t shoot your foot off playing with that thing that you_ totally _know how to use.”_

After that, he’d bought some bullets. John B hadn’t wanted any of that wad of cash he’d taken out of the hotel, muttering about marked bills and shit, but as far as JJ could tell, the money spent just fine.

He’d bought the keg for their party, some food for John B’s place because he never had shit other than beer. Some more beer, because John B had paid to get the last few rounds from JJ’s cousin who worked at the liquor store. A new cutting torch for his dad, though for as much as he’d bitched about the salvage yard keeping his old one, he didn’t get a new job once he had it. The torch just disappeared and a case of whiskey appeared. JJ slept in the hammock at the Chateau for a week after that, which was the longest he gauged a case of whiskey could possibly last when a Maybank was involved.

He also bought a bunch of glossy, expensive books on dead bodies. A gift that had backfired because Pope had disappeared into their pages and had barely emerged since. And some ammo, so he had enough spare to become as good of a shot as he’d bragged to Kiara that he was.

He gave the rest of the money—which was still a fat stack of benjamins—to that sea turtle sanctuary she was always going on about. Because Kiara wouldn’t want anything for herself, if she could save something else first. But then, when the donation receipt came in the mail, he stalled out about how to show it to her. It made him squirm, the idea of passing it over like “Look what I did for you.” It seemed braggy, as if he was trying to convince her he was a good person who cared how cute little sea turtles were, even though they were probably going to get eaten ten seconds after they got to the ocean. Or like he was waiting for her to throw her arms around him, eyes shining, and tell him thank you for knowing her well enough to get her the perfect gift. Fuck that. He’d torn up the donation receipt and left it in the trash under all the empty bottles from that long-dead case of whiskey and the pawn slip from the cutting torch.

Probably what he should have done was slipped her the donation receipt and said it was from John B. Kiara had been watching John B out of the corner of her eyes lately, chewing her lip all worried and cute-like. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to watch her mack his best friend, but John B was the best of them, and he was nice to girls. All sweet and blushy. A girl as hot as Kiara wasn’t going to stay single for long, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach seeing one of those grab-ass Kooks with his entitled hands all over her small body.

He’d tried his hand at flirting with Kie the first time she’d ridden a wave that sent him ass over teakettle, but she blew him off just as fast as all the other girls he’d tried his lines on, not even seeming to realize he’d saved up his best ones just for her. 

Nah, better to make sure she’d end up safe with John B. But the donation receipt wouldn’t have worked anyway because JB couldn’t lie worth a shit, and he’d probably end up blushing and stuttering that he didn’t know anything about it.

JJ squeezed an eye closed and aimed, snapping off another shot. He was getting good at putting the bullets where he wanted them. Now all he needed was to look the part. Sometimes, that was half the battle. He shook out his shoulders, relaxing his concentrated stance and putting on a tough scowl.

“You talking to me?” he muttered. A fly landed on his lip and he twitched it once, then twice, but it didn’t flee until the bang of his next shot scared it away.

Just then, Pope ran up, babbling all about the Kooks and how they knew for sure that he sunk the boat. JJ grabbed him.

“You look them in the eye…”

“And deny everything?”

“That’s right. Deny, deny, deny.” He said it three times, so it would sink past the panic in Pope’s eyes. “There’s only three ways they can get you. Hard evidence, eye witness, or a confession. Cops never got the first. If anybody had the second, they’d already be crawling up your ass instead of mad dogging it. And the third, you never, never give them. Not ever, Pope. You may end up in the lion’s den, but you never fucking put yourself there on purpose.”

His friend nodded wildly, too many times, and JJ gestured to the gun. “And just in case, you never go anywhere without this.”

His gut cringed in on itself at the idea of giving up his protection, his only sure bet now that the Easter-egg-colored Kooks had learned to move in packs like the dogs they were. But Pope needed it more than he did. In the first moment before a fight, when you needed to be throwing your hardest sucker punch, Pope would always hesitate and try to talk it out.

Which usually ended up with him bleeding too hard to continue with the talking.

JJ picked up the pistol and pressed it at Pope, trying to chase the fear out of his friend’s eyes the best way he knew how. “Take it. I’ve got a fresh box of bullets, too. Take them all.” His gut kinked, knowing how bad it would hurt the next time the Kooks cornered him. But if there was one thing a Maybank knew how to do, it was how to take a hit and come back for more.

Pope backed up, shaking his head. “No. Nuh-uh. They don’t give merit scholarships to perpetrators of gun violence. Besides, I don’t even know how to shoot one of those.”

“Fine.” JJ tossed the pistol in his backpack and slung it onto his back. “Then I’m your gun. Wherever you go, I go.”

Pope paused, something passing through his eyes, and then he gripped JJ’s shoulder, swallowing hard. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

“Ain’t nothing, bro.” He grinned. “Only thing you owe me is emotional damages from having to look at your ugly face so much.”

“I got to get back to work,” he said, glancing behind him. “Dad’s gonna kill me for taking off in the middle of a shift.”

“You get off at 7?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there, walk you home.” JJ made smooching sounds. “You better not try anything when we get to the porch, though. I’m waiting for marriage.”

“If we live through this,” Pope said. “I’ll get down on one knee and never look back.”

“Make it both knees and you got yourself a deal, bro.”

Pope gave a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, but at least it was something. He wasn’t losing his shit the way he’d been when he got here.

JJ watched him go, waving a cloud of gnats out of his face. It was too fucking hot and too fucking buggy to still be on dry land. He turned toward the house, dropping his backpack on the porch so he’d have it close, then stripped off his shirt and used it to dry the drip of sweat at the small of his back. In his room, he dug for his last pair of swim trunks. As he buttoned them, the brittle elastic busted in the back, sagging down over his hipbone.

“Fuck.” Guess he should have gone clothes shopping before he bought all that shit for sea turtles that Kiara had never even known about, in the end.

He took an old jackknife out of his dresser and stabbed two holes in the waistband then pulled the shoelace out of a pair of shoes that were too small. With that, he made a drawstring, tucking the bow on the inside so hopefully nobody would notice.

“Good enough for government work,” he said, which was a phrase he’d picked up from his dad, but didn’t really understand because his dad had never managed to land any of the plum government jobs he’d ever applied for.

He sauntered back through the house, shouldered his backpack, and when he turned to lock the door, a splash of color caught his eye. On the three-legged chair by the door sat a new pair of trunks, with a note poking out of one pocket written in the curvy loops of feminine handwriting.

_Your old trunks look like ass and nobody wants to see yours._

_-K_

“Damn, Kie.” He grinned, stripping right there amongst the trees to pull on the new trunks, which had a flare of badass red around the pockets. Figured that it wasn’t enough for that girl to beat him at surfing, she had to whup his ass at gift-giving, too. He grabbed his board and headed for the beach with the best break, determined that when he saw her, he’d front like he didn’t like it when she did either.

She’d probably see right through him, anyway. That girl always did.


End file.
